Sunday, May 30, 2010

Sometimes holding a conversation with Husband is exhausting. Confusing. Irritating.Speaking of Husband, what do I call him? We're not together (yay) and we're not going to be together (yay) and calling him Husband implies that he is still in that role. Hmmm....I'll think of something (other than Asshole or Dirtbag, that is).

What I have come to realize is that when talking with him, I need to pretend (ha!) that he is someone with a mental illness. Undiagnosed. If I went to hang out at Mental Health for some function, I would not assume that the conversation I hold with a patient is going to be understood and conveyed in a manner that sane people do. Not. At. All.

So I alternate between treating him like a child and treating him as "special". Because otherwise I will drive myself bonkers in trying to have a normal conversation with someone who is incapable of doing so.

Monday, May 24, 2010

J2 just turned 9. She is a bright, charming, mostly-happy child who also happens to have an adorable habit of mis-speaking. While serving me "dinner" (plastic food yum) she also went through her spiel of what was on the menu.

Friday, May 07, 2010

I still have to see him. We are polite, he is friendly. I am...more distanced, I suppose. Cooler. Easily annoyed with him. He lives in the mini-house, I in a teeny spare room in a real house. Messy seems to be adapting to different nights with either Mom or Dad, but never Both.Husband was initiating a conversation with me, which means he tells me what I "need" to do while feigning concern for "our" well-being. I got that feeling in the pit of my stomach, the tightening and tension because I am not comfortable with the subject he wants to discuss. I tell him that I will think it over and we can discuss it tomorrow. I was relaxed, or at least, I had been until he started badgering me to talk about it now blah blah. Are you ready for the best part??? Ready?I walked away. I told him "Goodnight" and I walked away. It felt good, it felt cleansing, it felt powerful.

Tuesday, May 04, 2010

Ok, the bullshit is still there, but I can distance myself from the love that I felt/feel? for this man enough to hear what he's not saying. It was payday today, which means bills need to be paid and shopping trips must be made. So we agreed to be polite and non-confrontational while attending to mundane matters like laundry soap and toilet paper. Together.

I listen to him blubber on about how he loves me and will never find another and blabber blah (standard stuff). He talks about how maybe he shouldn't have been so uptight about the house being clean and he should have been easier on the girls (who are not here right now). How he will go to counseling.

He isn't pushy. Not demanding. He is charming and funny. He tears up every now and then, but not in an attention-getting way.

I glance at him while he's speaking, and imagine me in my own place. I can get up in the morning and turn on the tv. Blow-dry my hair. I can have friends. I can sleep by myself and not wake up when he rolls over, scared that he's going to wake up and bitch about theblanketsthebabythemessmystinkyfart and eleventymillion other things he complained about.

He talks about how he wants to "try", no, not try but "really try", and I think about the counseling session and the cycle of violence and how I really miss myself and how it's been three mornings in a row now where I didn't want to drive my car off of a steep highway curve with my eyes closed.

He looks at me, pleading. I smile, and tell him, again, that I will never share a roof with him. And then I change the subject. Messy and I gather our overnight-away-stuff, and we leave.

Saturday, May 01, 2010

I told him I didn't want to live with him anymore. He did not get grrrr, just...sad. Tried to engage me in conversation about the "Us" and "We" and "Trying" and "pms". Yes, that time of the month. To guilt, to manipulate. So to bolster my decision to leave him, I am posting this which I wrote a few months ago. I couldn't do it earlier. Honestly, I'm not sure I want to do it now. It hurts my heart to read it.

DECEMBER 13, 2009: MEAN PEOPLE AND ALCOHOL DON'T MIX

A few months ago, after a particularly bad episode where my husband was drinking and then got physical with me, we made the vow that we wouldn't drink alcohol anymore. My husband told me that he recognized that when he drinks he feels "meaner and get angrier faster". I am not a big drinker, preferring my rooms to stay still and not spin, so this was no big deal to not drink. I was very happy that my husband realized that his drinking was a problem. We decided that we could have alcohol on "special occasions", namely holidays.

We went to a party last night, a holiday-family-friendly-gingerbread-decorating-party. Alcohol was served to the adults. We never go out, so we both agreed that this was a "special occasion". After a few drinks, my husband decided he needed more alcohol. (This was after 7 Fat Tire beers and two inches of whiskey.) I felt a little warning tug in my belly, but realized the frame of mind he was in; nothing was going to dissuade him. He went to the store, came back with a small bottle of Jack, and proceeded to drink almost the entire bottle. (I had some, maybe a shot or two.)

Eleven o'clock at night, the babies are getting tired and he is losing at poker. The subtle comments start, little references that only I would understand. He asked Messy to sit in his lap, then when Messy starts to whine, passes him to me and remarks "five days a week, I'm done". (Referring to his SAHD status). Husband's jokes are not very funny anymore, and everyone can tell that he is trying too hard.

I am sitting at the poker table. The following story was related to me by the children in the other room....He walks into the bedroom where the children are playing, and tells Big J that she is driving home (joking). Big J replies that he doesn't have a car or a license. (Kinda' true-my car, and his license is currently suspended.) He freaks out on her, calls her "an ass" three times (let's keep in mind she's 12) and he then proceeds to scoop up Messy and slams out to the car, yelling at me that he is leaving me because my daughter is a "pole-dancing slut" and she's a "little cunt".Seriously? SHE"S TWELVE YEARS OLD!! He then tells me that she told him to fuck off.

I raised a good girl. I know that she is not disrespectful. I know that she would never ever EVER say "fuck" to an adult. I asked her what happened, and her story was the same as everyone else in the room.

I follow my husband out to the car to talk to him, and he drives away. He watches me trying to get into the car and he drives away. I yell to him that if he continues, I will call 911 and report the car as stolen. He stops, gets out, and tells me that my daughter is disrespectful and says more unflattering things about her. He asks me if I believe him. I tell him no.

Why would a grown man expect me to choose him over my child? Perhaps he doesn't understand the love a parent has for their child. Perhaps he honestly thought I would agree with him? I am so very tired of this...

I am writing it down. I am going to leave. I am so scared. I am so scared I won't do it.

But I will. I am.

Does anybody read this? Do you pray to whatever god/ess you believe in? Think of me then. Pray that I find the courage and the strength to do what needs to be done. Please. I think I'm going to need all the help I can get.

About Me

Once Upon A Time, I was a Welfare Mommy. I put myself through college and became a Welfare Worker, all while keeping my sardonic sense of humor in check. Then I was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis, quit my job, and now stay at home and raise three kids, ages 17, 13, and 6.
I can cook but can't "throw something together", I want to clean but procrastinate, but most of all I want to find myself.